


Rising

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Fallen Angels, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-08 22:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19876825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Aziraphale is determined to reverse Crowley's Fall. Crowley, of course, is nothing but trouble.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is partly an alternative to the Raphael!Crowley headcanon and partly just because I heard "Running Up That Hill" on the radio.
> 
> You know, "And if I could make a deal with God, and get Him to swap our places..."

Aziraphale was asking for the impossible, and he knew it.

"And the Holy Water didn't do any harm, after all, so there must be _something_ inherently good in him. Surely it's better to have him up here than in Hell."

"Nobody's ever Risen before," Gabriel told him, as though he was talking to a particularly slow child - and then that horrible, cold smile spread across his lips. "Besides, if we brought the demon Crowley up because of his resistance to Holy Water, it stands to reason that we’d have to take your resistance to Hellfire into account, too.”

“And send me- send me-?”Aziraphale’s voice became a squeak despite his best efforts, but he pulled himself together. Crowley didn’t belong in Hell, that was the important thing.

Since what Crowley had started terming _Nah-mageddon_ , apparently for no other reason than that it wound the angel up, Aziraphale had been spending a lot more time around the demon. One rainy night, too drunk and too lazy to go home, he’d actually fallen asleep on Crowley’s floor, and had woken in the middle of the night to find himself safely tucked into Crowley’s bed. Padding towards the door, he’d frozen as he heard the demon’s voice. He seemed to be wrapped around that ridiculous throne he had, talking vaguely upwards.

“I know You’re not keen on being tested, it’s just… well, after that Noah business, You gave the humans a rainbow, lovely thing, promised not to do it again. And I know the apocalypse wasn’t strictly _You_ , but it’s all supposed to be part of the Great Plan and, well, it took a lot of mad coincidences and blind luck to stop the world from ending. I’d just- it would be really nice, is all, to have some kind of sign that we really stopped it. That it’s not just all going to happen again with a new baby Antichrist. Couldn’t You do that? For the humans, for Aziraphale… for me? I know I’m not exactly Your favourite child, but I… for Aziraphale, at least. Some reassurance for Your best angel. That’s all I ask. Just… tell him it’s over, he’s safe, or warn him if he’s not. That sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

Aziraphale had crept from the flat, and tried not to dwell on the fact that Crowley apparently thought of him as _Her best angel._ Crowley had been _praying_ \- and praying with an ease and familiarity that Aziraphale had lost long ago, if he had ever had it. He so rarely actually _prayed_ these days, too disheartened from years of going unanswered, but Crowley clearly did, calling out to his absent Creator even after She had cast him out. Crowley shouldn’t be a demon - how could he be, when he clearly had so much faith? Aziraphale had made up his mind to sort things out, and he had come straight to Heaven to do it. Nothing was going to stop him now.

“Then send me to Hell,” he told Gabriel as firmly as he could, “if that’s God’’s will. But let Crowley come home. He’s far more deserving of Heaven than I am.”

Gabriel stared at him for a moment; he clearly hadn’t expected Aziraphale to call his bluff.

“No. No, there’ll be no more Falling. Hell would just _love_ that. Still, swiping one of their own from under their noses… it would remind them we were in charge. The question is, Aziraphale, how sure are you about him?”

“What do you mean?”

“The demon Crowley - what was he before? We should find out - would be on a very strict indefinite probation. The slightest misstep, a hint of insubordination, and he’s out. And _you will be going with him,_ Aziraphale. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

“I believe he can do well here. It’s no risk at all, really.”

“Well, then. On your head be it. We’ll take him back, until he fails us, and then both of you will be out of my hair. Find out his name, Aziraphale, and I’ll start the paperwork.”

* * *

Aziraphale didn’t have to wait long to speak to Crowley; he found him lounging against the wall outside the bookshop when he got back to Earth.

“Hey, angel, you left. Everything OK?”

“Oh, yes. Tickety-boo. Why?”

“You left, I thought maybe you’d got the wrong idea about waking up in my bed-”

“What? No, no, I just wanted to stretch my legs.”

“You left _Earth_ , Aziraphale. I couldn’t find you, I thought they’d taken you, but they wouldn't have left me behind.”

“Hm?” He hadn’t even thought that Crowley might be worried about his safety. “No, I just popped in to make sure they wouldn’t bother us.”

“And they won’t?”

“They won’t. Come in, won’t you?” The invitation was barely made before Crowley was inside the bookshop, prowling along the shelves. As Aziraphale watched, he picked up a book and moved it, apparently for no other reason than to be irritating. Well, he’d have to cut that sort of behaviour out when he was back in Heaven.

“Crowley,” he began cautiously, “how did you end up with that name?”

“Well, not much of a stretch from Crawly, really. Or are you still on about the J?”

“No, I meant - I _meant_ Crawly.”

Crowley gave him an incredulous look. “I was a snake.”

“And snakes were made to crawl because of what you did in Eden. But you were already Crawly, weren’t you? Before that.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. I think that might be where She got the idea.”

“Then why Crawly? That can’t always have been your name.”

“Does it matter? It’s Crowley now.” He sounded just angry enough that Aziraphale decided to let it drop.

Two days later, they were just leaving a small cinema after a showing of the latest _Romeo and Juliet_ adaptation when Aziraphale decided to try another tack.

“What’s in a name, indeed,” he mused quietly, and then, “that reminds me, I was wondering about something. None of the demons use their angel names.”  
“Hastur by any other name would smell as vile,” Crowley grimaced. “So?”

“So, I could have Fallen. Over the apocalypse thing. I just wondered, you know… is there some logic to it? Getting from a Heavenly name to a Hellish one?”

“Are you asking me what your demon name would be?” Crowley frowned at him. “Like one of those things on the internet, where the third letter of your first name, plus your surname, tells you your stripper name? Yours, by the way, would be…” He whipped his phone out, still walking, and Aziraphale had to miracle them a path through the London throng. “...Lola Heaventush. How delightfully appropriate. And I’d be… Raquelle Glitzkiss.”

“Crowley, I wasn’t asking about stripper names.”

“No, you were looking for a formula for demon names, which doesn’t exist. We just picked them, most of them went for the furthest thing from their old names they could think of, I think.”

“Well, what would _you_ suggest?”

“I don’t know. Scrofftur, or something, you’d hate that. It doesn’t matter, because you’re not a demon and you never will be, angel. So leave it alone.”

“Well, what was _your_ angel name?” Aziraphale was getting desperate now, but Crowley, it seemed, was done.

“It doesn’t matter; that’s not me any more. I’ll see you around, angel.”

Then he got into his car and drove away.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days later, Crowley was standing outside the bookshop as Aziraphale considered opening it. He wasn’t waiting, as such, just staring in through the glass with a haunted, miserable expression, and Aziraphale immediately decided that only one person would be entering the shop from the street that day.

Once they were settled in the back room, with tea and biscuits, Aziraphale let his usual tea-making patter fade away into the silence it had been met with. Crowley must have something to say, and Aziraphale could be quiet for long enough to let him say it.

"I was rude, before." It was almost an apology, but Aziraphale didn't need one; Crowley had done nothing wrong. "I shouldn't have stormed off like that. I'm the last person who should get cross about asking questions, after all. That's how I Fell."

"Asking questions?" Aziraphale was appalled; he'd thought you had to do something really terrible to Fall. After all, he'd lied to God's face when he'd given away his sword, and surely She must know that, but _he_ hadn't fallen.

" _Pointed_ questions, I suppose, but yeah. God doesn't like to be questioned. Not on the big things, anyway, like, _why make these new creatures so fragile_ , or _doesn't Lucifer deserve a second chance_."

“Right. I see.” It took him a moment to remember what they’d been talking about. “Well, you don’t have to apologise. I was being rather insensitive, I suppose. No doubt there’s good reason you haven’t told me anything about who you were Before.”

“No. No, there isn’t, not really. Only that I wasn’t anyone much, so it didn't seem important, and... I try not to think about it.” Crowley looked as if that admission had, in itself, caused him pain, and Aziraphale was loath to add to it. But he couldn’t deny that he was curious.

“Do you miss it? Heaven?”

“Well, of course.” Aziraphale’s heart swelled; what a gift he could give Crowley, just as soon as he had his name! “I miss being adored, and life being so simple, and God always being nearby shining _love_ everywhere, I suppose. But I’d never go back.”

“Wh- what?”

“Look at the way they treat you, Aziraphale. Heaven’s changed, and there was hardly a place in it for me before. Besides, when was the last time you felt God’s love up there?”

“Er- well- I-”

“It’s just… it used to be home, is all. I miss that place, but it doesn’t exist any more. So here I am. Nowhere I’d rather be than right here with you.”

“Don’t you still miss, er, being adored?” They both winced slightly at the way that had come out, but Crowley shrugged it off.

“I don’t mind doing the adoring.” He stared off into space for a few moments, as if concentrating very hard on the pattern of the wallpaper, and Aziraphale followed his gaze to make sure he wasn’t changing it. “My name was Coriel. Part of the Heavenly Choir, if you can believe- _what’s happening?_ ”

It was a valid question; the little back room of the bookshop had filled with light and, Aziraphale realised belatedly, a large transportation circle had just appeared in glowing symbols all around them both.

“Gabriel, your sense of timing-” Then the bookshop disappeared, and Aziraphale found himself in front of the archangel himself.

“Impeccable, I know. Well, you did as I asked, so… Fair’s fair. Is, er, is he OK?”

That was a valid question, too, as Aziraphale turned to find Crowley crouched in a defensive position on the floor, arms up over his head as he turned, looking for an attack that wouldn’t come. He reached down to help him up.

“Crowley. My dear. I, er, I think I have some explaining to do-”

“Welcome back, Coriel. We’ll see about reassigning you both to Heavenly duties later, but for now I suppose you’d better bring him up to speed.” Then Gabriel, smug git that he was, walked away, leaving Aziraphale to search for the words to explain.

“Gabriel- he called me- _why did he call me that_? Why am I here, Aziraphale?”

“You’re… that is to say, I… er, I pulled a few strings…”

“Why did he say _welcome back_?”

“Er. Cro-” That wasn’t his name any more. Aziraphale tried again. “Try opening your wings.”

“ _Here_? I’ll get lynched! Just because Gabriel’s somehow fine with having a demon in here now-”

“Trust me. Open your wings.”

Crowley cautiously shook them out, pure white feathers catching the light, and stared in- well, if Aziraphale hadn’t known better, he might have thought it was horror.

“Whose wings are these?”

“Well… yours.”

“These are angel wings.”

“I got you reinstated!” It was just too exciting to keep in any longer, and Aziraphale beamed proudly at his friend. “I made my case to Gabriel, and he agreed that you’d be an asset to Team Heaven. So, here you are! The first demon ever to Rise! You’re an angel, again, Coriel. Congratulations!”

Crowley didn’t move, didn’t speak, for what felt like a very long time, busy inspecting every inch of wing and flesh he could see. His skin had taken on a warmer tone, his posture had straightened, and he shone slightly in the light of Heaven. Aziraphale was sure that he’d get used to this version of Crow- of Coriel, in time, and like him just as much as he’d liked the demon’s old form. Coriel, it seemed, did not share his optimism.

“This is a nightmare.”

“No, no, don’t you see? We’re on the same side now, this is everything we ever wanted!”

Cr- Coriel was suddenly very close, and very menacing. “We were on our _own_ side. We were _free_ , Aziraphale, finally free! And now… now we’re here.” Aziraphale must have looked as crestfallen as he felt, because the other angel’s expression softened as he looked at him. “We’re here now. It’s… it must have taken a lot of persuasion to get me back in.”

“Well, a little-”

“Did you trade anything? Make any deals?”

“No,” Aziraphale lied, “just highlighted your good points.”

“Good. And… I suppose, thank you. You were trying to help. I-” Coriel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It didn’t look as though it helped much. “I’m sorry, can I just have a moment? I need… I need a moment. Discorporated, and all, it’s- just a moment. OK?”

Aziraphale nodded and watched Coriel walk purposefully in a random direction. He probably thought he was far enough away for Aziraphale not to hear when he started muttering obscenities under his breath, or notice him stop in his tracks with an exhaled, “everything we ever wanted,” or see him kick at a random desk. Coriel turned to the desk, regarded it warily for a moment, then crawled underneath it. If Aziraphale had to guess, he would put his money on the newly-restored angel having curled into a ball down there.

Oh, dear. This was not how he had expected things to go at all.

* * *

He came back, of course; Cr- Coriel would always come back to Aziraphale.

“Sorry. Needed to clear my head. Bit of a culture shock. Say, is, er, is my tattoo still there?” He gestured towards his ear, and Aziraphale nodded.

“It’s gold, now.”

“Gold. Right. Of course. Right. And I’m… really back? This isn’t a test, or anything?”

“I think it’s safe to say that eyes will be upon you,” Aziraphale hedged, “so try not to cause any trouble.”

“Try _not_ to cause trouble. Right. Opposite of my first job at the other place. OK. And… old name. Yeah. I can do that. Er- Gabriel said something about assignments?”

“Not yet. I’ll give you the tour.”

There was, admittedly, not a lot to show off in this part of Heaven. It was pretty empty, actually. Gabriel had always kept his underlings busy, and it seemed that still held true. A few angels were around, and Aziraphale made sure to introduce their returning comrade to each of them.

“You remember Coriel, of course. No? Oh, well. He’s been on Earth for as long as I have, now.”

“This is Coriel, he’s been away for a while.”

“Do you know Coriel-?”

“I knew a Coriel, once,” Uriel told him, voice dripping with contempt. “He Fell, and was consumed by Hell.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale supposed he should have seen that coming. “Well. You know. He got better.”

“So Gabriel told me. You’d better hope so, Coriel, or there’ll be no mercy this time.”

“Mercy?” Coriel raised an eyebrow. “Is _that_ what you call plummeting a thousand leagues, wings burning, nothing to break your fall but a boiling lake of sulphur?”

“Compared to what will happen if you cross Gabriel now? That’s nothing.” And Uriel walked away with a dismissive sniff.

Coriel rolled his eyes as the archangel walked away.

“Yeah, sure, Gabriel can come up with something worse than God’s own punishment for Her disobedient children? That I’d like to see.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Aziraphale felt a little faint of the idea. “Please, Coriel. For me.”

“Will you stop calling me that? You know me. I’m Crowley, have been for years.”

“And now you have a second chance. Please. Don’t waste it.”

Coriel looked at him with such sadness that Aziraphale felt a mad urge to cover his face, to hide his ingratitude from those who would punish him for it.  
“I’ll try, angel. For you.” He reached out and touched Aziraphale’s cheek. “I was always on your side.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some theological liberties (there's a sentence I never thought I'd type), sorry!

Coriel had been in Heaven for nearly a full day when Aziraphale heard raised voices.

“You’re reassigning me to _what_?”

“Purgatorial processing. It should suit your skills nicely, taking people who’ve failed to meet our requirements and giving them the Hell Lite™ experience.”

“If they’ve failed to meet your requirements-”

“ _Our_ requirements,” Gabriel reminded him.

“-then why aren’t they in Hell?”

“Oh, these are fundamentally good people who just, you know, couldn’t quite follow orders. You just throw them in with the rest and we have a team of lesser demons come up and practice their torture techniques on them.”

“How is that Hell _light_?”

“Well, they’re not _expert_ torturers.”

“You’re torturing people who are, in your words, _fundamentally good,_ because they didn’t do the paperwork-?”

“That sounds an awful lot as if you’re questioning me, Coriel. Consider this your first and only warning.”

“But-”

“Come along, Coriel, I’ll show you the way,” Aziraphale interrupted hurriedly, and felt Gabriel’s glare following him until they were out of sight. Of course, he had no idea where Purgatorial Processing even was, but it had to be somewhere near the Admissions desk. Coriel shook his hand off of his arm, scowling furiously, as they approached the desk.

“What are you doing-?”

“What am _I_ doing? I’m not the one about to get himself kicked out for arguing with an archangel-”

“Can I help you?” The old saint at the desk smiled politely, and Coriel returned the smile with entirely too much tooth.

“Yeah, er, I was actually hoping to make an appointment with God.”

“She’s out of office at the moment, er…?”

“Coriel,” Aziraphale supplied helpfully, when it seemed that Coriel wasn’t going to answer for himself, and both parties glared at him.

“Coriel. Are you an archangel or higher?”

“I’m, er, I’m a de-”

“ _Deeply_ enthusiastic member of the Purgatorial Processing team. Just assigned today,” Aziraphale cut in, “not sure where to find his desk.”

“Oh. Well, good luck with it. It’s just through that door and down one flight of stairs. Don’t go too far, you don’t want to end up in the Other Place! Next,” the old saint called, and a soul shuffled forwards to be checked against the list.

“Aziraphale,” Coriel began through gritted teeth, “are you planning to let me speak for myself at all?”

“Not if you keep trying to get yourself kicked out.”

“I just wanted a word with the boss, that’s all! I had a-” He stopped abruptly, and Aziraphale sighed.

“A question? You know better than most what happens to people with _questions_ around here.”

“No, not a question.” Coriel scrambled for something he could say instead; it was obvious that he had meant _question._ “A… suggestion. Feedback. Constructive-”

“Criticism? Coriel, really, you can’t-”

“I’m not going to last here, Aziraphale, I can’t do it. I can’t _torture_ people, or send them to be tortured, and never ask why. I don’t know how you can ask me to.”

“I’m not asking. Gabriel told you to. That’s different. That’s… just how it is.”

“Then it’s wrong,” Coriel told him softly. “Leave me, I’ll go alone.” Then he trudged through the door to Purgatorial Processing, and Aziraphale had no choice but to go back upstairs.

* * *

Coriel stormed into Heaven’s main atrium exactly when he was expected back from his shift, and Aziraphale watched his wings bristle as he marched towards Gabriel. He looked about two seconds shy of foaming at the mouth, and Aziraphale rushed to intercept him, but he was too slow; Coriel began shouting the moment he was in earshot of the archangel.

“What was that? What is that, down there? That’s not- that’s all-out _torture_ in there. _Hell_ treats people better than that, because at least they know what they’re in for, and for how long.”

“Coriel. A good first day, I take it.”

“They took pity on me, because I was new and I didn’t like the idea of hurling people into torture. So they let me book people out instead, today. Those people are wrecks. And I don’t see any of them here, so what are you doing with them, Gabriel?”

“They’re sent to be with the other humans, in the human department. What’s your point?”

“Do you have _any idea_ what they’re doing in Purgatory? Any idea at all?”

“Of course. I know everything that goes on in Heaven.”

“Well, then everything that’s happening in there is your responsibility. Does God know about it? No, I bet She doesn’t-”

“God is all-knowing,” Michael corrected him sharply; Aziraphale hadn’t even realised she was there.

“I bet She doesn’t, though, because you and I both know-”

“Coriel-” Aziraphale’s plea came too late.

“-we all know She wouldn’t like it.”

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of Heaven. Aziraphale could feel his heart pounding in his head, even though it shouldn’t have been possible. Coriel had just committed the ultimate sin - nobody could claim to know the mind of God Herself - and now he and Aziraphale would both Fall for it.

“Well, you heard him,” Gabriel grinned at Aziraphale, not even bothering to address the fuming former demon in front of him. “You know what happens next.”

“We Fall,” Aziraphale mumbled.

“ _We-?_ ” Coriel was confused, now, and who could blame him? But Gabriel shook his head.

“Oh, no. We wouldn’t make you Fall over that. Not when Hell would take it as a victory. No, it’s going to be much worse than that, Aziraphale.”

“Hell-? Hellfire?”

“No, that didn’t work. No, I know just the punishment for you. Throw them out,” he told Sandalphon, who rubbed his hands together eagerly at the prospect. Then there was a heavy hand on his shoulder, and a lurching sensation, and Aziraphale was Falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. There's one more chapter after this, if you'll stick with me.


	4. Chapter 4

Aziraphale was Falling.

He clutched blindly at the air, trying to save himself, and cold hands caught both of his, squeezing tightly in reassurance.

“Easy, angel. I’ve got you.” Coriel- Crowley- whoever he was, he sounded _amused_. “Open your eyes.”

Aziraphale did, and realised that he wasn’t Falling. He wasn’t even really _falling,_ any more, Crowley’s wings beating lazily to slow their descent. They were grey wings, Aziraphale noticed, and as he spread his own to share the load he realised that they’d turned a sort of toasted-marshmallow colour. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t the burning, plummeting horror Crowley had described. Instead, they were drifting gently down towards London, sunlight playing on their feathers, and before he knew it, Aziraphale was laughing, shaking with uncontrollable mirth.

“Stop it, angel, you’re going to crash us-” But Crowley was laughing too, looking much more like his old self, and by the time they landed safely on Earth it was all they could do to stay upright, clinging to one another for support.

“What just happened?” Aziraphale managed, when he could catch his breath for a moment, and Crowley shrugged.

“I have no idea, angel, but we seem to have survived. What were you _thinking?_ ” The change in tone was abrupt; Aziraphale was still leaning on Crowley for support, and wasn’t expecting anger. But then, there wasn’t a lot of anger in the question. “Me, in Heaven? Clearly that was never going to work out. I just don’t know what _you_ did.”

“That was the deal.”

_Now_ there was anger. Crowley stiffened, his grip on Aziraphale’s arms becoming rigid.

“Angel… you said no deals. I asked you, and you said there wasn’t a deal.”

“Well, there was, all right? I just didn’t want you to worry about it. I wanted you to enjoy being _home_ -”

“This _is_ my home, angel! _This_ is my home.” He pulled Aziraphale a little closer. “Us, _our_ side, your bookshop and my Bentley and London and humans and _Earth_. This is my home.”

“Well, good. Because I don’t know that we’re ever going to get up _there_ again.” Crowley seemed to realise, suddenly, how bewildering that felt to Aziraphale.

“I’m sorry, angel. It was _your_ home.”

“No, no." He managed a weak smile. "No, home is ducks and the Ritz and this demon I can’t seem to get rid of.” 

Crowley, of course, read between the lines.

“Hm, it _is_ good to be back, isn’t it?”

People were staring, Aziraphale realised a few moments later.  
“Er. Perhaps we should put our wings away.” They shuffled them out of the visible plane, and the stares only intensified. That was odd; people usually forgot about any glimpse of wing they might catch sight of. “Er… car?”

“Car.” Crowley looked around for it, then frowned. “Er… it tends to just turn up. Still, I know where we are. We can walk back. Do us good.”

“Right. Yes. Walk. Do us good.”

They were almost halfway back to the bookshop before Crowley spoke again.

“So will you stop calling me by that stupid angel name now?”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry.”

“And you’re not going to try to do anything ridiculous, like try to get us both into Hell or something?”

“Hardly.” Aziraphale shuddered. “The very thought of it.”

“Mm. That’s how I felt when I found myself in Heaven all of a sudden.”

“Yes. Sorry. I thought he was going to take a little longer, so I could explain.”

“It wouldn’t have helped. I could never have stayed there. Too many questions, me.”

“I see that.” Aziraphale frowned. “But you tried. I could _see_ you were trying. Why bother, if you didn’t want to stay?”

“Oh, angel. Heaven was your gift to me. And I could see how much it meant to _you_.”

Aziraphale couldn’t find words to answer that, so he simply reached out and took the demon’s hand. It took a few more streets, strolling back through London towards the bookshop, but at last Crowley intertwined their fingers, squeezing gently, and Aziraphale felt as though he could breathe again.

* * *

They found, when they reached the bookshop, that a letter was waiting on the counter, addressed to both of them.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale warned, recognising the handwriting, but Crowley opened it anyway. No doubt he felt it was better to know what their orders were, or what further punishment would be inflicted.

_By now you will have realised that you haven’t Fallen all the way - Hell isn’t getting any more numbers from me - and you’ve probably also noticed that your miracle privileges have been revoked. I can’t do anything about your wings, or your immortality - I will take it up with God next time She’s available, don’t you worry - but aside from that, you are both effectively human. This is a permanent demotion and we will not be speaking again. Try not to fuck anything else up._

_Archangel Gabriel._

“Oh.” Crowley handed the letter to Aziraphale, who scanned it anxiously. “Well, that could definitely be worse.”

“Never hearing from Gabriel again? I’ll say. Although… well, we do have a habit of effing up the ineffable, so I suppose he _might_ come down to inflict his idea of justice on us again.”

“Nah, how many Ineffable Plans can we possibly ruin if we don’t have powers?” Crowley leaned against the counter, trying to look indifferent. “More importantly, do you have _dinner_ plans?”

“Well, I doubt we can get the Ritz.” Aziraphale held up the letter to make his point.

“That’s alright. I know a little place round the corner I’ve been meaning to take you to - you’ll probably like it, it’s your sort of thing. And I thought, you know… a bit... romantic.”

“Anthony J. Crowley, are you asking me on a date?”

“No!” The demon looked appalled at the very idea. “That is, unless that hand-holding thing earlier was… I mean, if you wanted to… yeah, I suppose I am.”

“Good. Then I accept.”

Crowley’s delighted smile was worth more than anything in Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.


End file.
